Fuel
by TheWrittenAnonymous
Summary: My version of what should have happened instead of Mockingjay, after the Hunger Games and Catching Fire. Please keep in mind this was written before Mockinjay came out. Katniss picks either Gale or Peeta. Tragedy, Adventure, Romance.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **First one, and I need new ideas and stuff, so don't be afraid to be harsh in your reviews (which would be nice... please review) Also... How does this author's note thing work? I've also seen people do disclaimers, so, well, here we go.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the Hunger Games, the characters, or anything Suzanne Collins wrote. Please dont remove my stuff.

"Right, so this is the list of supplies. We have to make sure we have enough so that we don't… starve… Katniss?" Gale's voice trails off uncertainly. He throws down his clipboard and sighs. "Look, we're going to get Peeta back, ok? But right now, we have more important things to worry about. Like not starving on this stupid thing!"

I continue glaring at him. Like he cares what happens to Peeta. To him, Peeta is just another tool, another pawn being played by the capitol. To him, it's just him versus everything else. Black versus white. Good versus evil. But me—I'd been in the hunger games, something Gale can never hold over me. I'd been in the arena, seen the line between the black and white blurred so much neither side was recognizable anymore. I'd killed and not felt anything, seen my allies ruthlessly murdered, seen so many deaths, so much blood. But I couldn't let it get to me. No way would Gale let me rescue Peeta alone, and I couldn't betray how I felt. So I just ducked my head, feeling the blood bloom angrily in my cheeks.

"Hey! Back to work, you two," says a slurred voice behind us. Both Gale and I jump, not realizing that someone had been eavesdropping. Haymitch staggers in, holding a glass of something red that reeks of alcohol. He coughs, and drops the glass. It shatters on the floor. "Pick that… pick that… up?" He coughs, then lurches forward and falls. We wait for him to get up, but he doesn't move.

Gale nudges him with his foot, and Haymitch pushes it away, sighing something under his breath. I sighed. "I'll get him." _Anything to get out of being here with you. _I hook my hands under his armpits and drag him towards a couch. I pull him on, first his torso, then his legs. I wave a hand over his eyes, stick a finger in his gut. He's out cold. I set off to make something to ease the hangover he'll soon have, when he turns over and mumbles something incoherently. _What did he just say?_

Haymitch yawns. "District… trouble. Games? Peeta can…bait. Heavensbee said no." He reaches one hand out for a bottle of liquor that is not there, and falls off the couch. I squat down and tap him lightly on the shoulder. "Haymitch. Haymitch? Haymitch!"

"Hmmm?" he says, an almost serene expression on his face.

"You said something. Something about Peeta?"

He frowns. "Peeta… Peeta says I have to stop drinking."

"No, no. What did you say? Peeta? Bait?"

"Mhhhhh hmmmm. Gale said Peeta is bait. Says capitol thinks Peeta did it… to save Katniss. Johanna… hmmmmm. Johanna plays dumb. Yes, Johanna is…" his warbled speech is cut off by a loud snore. Haymitch turns over, the tranquil expression returning to his features.

I stand up, aghast. How could Gale keep this from me? But inside, I know. Gale was never one to play fair, and in his twisted mind, he may think that what he's doing is just. I look back at Haymitch. How many times has he kept such vital secrets from me? How can he do this to me and not feel anything? He knows what's about to happen. I know what's about to happen. I know Peeta will tell the Capitol it was his entire fault, to free Johanna. To free me from whatever he thinks binds me to him.

And I know that again, I'm in a twisted game, not made by the game makers, but by my best friends.

This time, though, I have no allies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** So, one of the reviews (My only review, actually, but that's ok, said that she felt sad that Katniss was all alone and that actually made me feel kinda bad so I decided to give Katniss an ally! Unfortunately, it's Finnick, so she might be better off working alone, but you know, I tried. Enjoy! Also, thanx, Libra9213) Alsoooo, this chaper's extremely short. And there are no real plot twists, so you can skip it if you want to.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Hunger Games.

* * *

Finnick slouched on the couch, his arms behind his head, his feet crossed at his ankles, eyes closed.

I waited for his response. "Finnick?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you in?"

He paused, and chose his words carefully. "You want to save Peeta."

"Yes!" I said impatiently.

"Can we rethink your plan?"

"What's wrong with it?"

Finnick sighed, and opened one eyelid. "You want to wait until we stop to get more supplies."

"Yes."

"And you want to run off. Just like that. With no preparation, no materials, and no plan. And you expect to outsmart the capitol, who has a lot of materials, a lot of preparation, and apparently, a lot more intelligence that you have. You want me to go with you. See any holes in your plan?"

I glared at him. "Look, Finnick," I growled. We don't have time to sit back and plan this step for step. They're torturing him right now! He doesn't have weeks or months, he has _days._ Days! We have _days_ to save Peeta!"

"Look, honey, not gonna happen. Besides, he might still have a chance. How do you think the Capitol audience will react to Snow killing one of the most famous couples in the world right now?"

"You don't get it, Finnick! These people, they can do things and make it look like an accident! Don't you want to save Annie?"

He stiffened at these words. "I said it once, and I'll say it again: I wish she were dead."

"Yeah? Do you think they'll let her suffer less? You think they won't torture her? Threaten her? Blackmail her? You don't think the fact that their creation drove her insane bothers them, makes it hard for them to sleep at night? That that'll stop them from killing her? God, Finnick, it's like you don't care about her at all! You don't think—"

"You know what I think? I think that I'm the only one here who's thinking rationally. You know you can't do it. And you know that you'll probably die trying."

"Do you love her? Because if you did, you'd—"

"Katniss, stop. Just stop. You're making this so much harder than it needs to be. Just do what Peeta would have wanted."

"Would have? You're acting like they've already killed him! But we can still save him! Just—"

"Just stop, Katniss. This conversation is over." He stood up and walked away, while I stood there fuming in silence.

**Author's Note: **I'm pretty sure this one was a little shorter than my first. I'm a pretty fast uploader, but I'm pretty bored with the plot I have planned out. Also, I'm just telling you, some of these chapters are pretty boring, just because I believe that not some totally plot-changing event has to happen every chapter. I'll warn you ahead of time, and you can just not read them if you feel like it. Well, byeeee. I might actually upload later tonight if I feel like it…


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **This is one of those chapters that you probably don't want to miss, because you'll have no idea what's going on next chapter. (Told ya I was a fast uploader ) Welllll, enjoy. Wait! Oh yeah, I'm still deciding whether to make it a Katniss-Gale story or a Katniss-Peeta story, it'd be nice if I had your input… thanx for everyone who reviewed (That's Libra9213, M-x-M, and Clcy. And yes, I will keep doing this until I get a lot of reviews.)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the works of Suzanne Collins, but God, I wish I did…

* * *

"Glad you decided to help," says Gale sarcastically as a gust of frigid air hits me.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't like you could handle it yourself," I retort. He hands me a clipboard, but my hands are shaking and I drop it. Gale bends down, picks it up, and hands it to me almost shyly. Then he takes off his sweater and puts gently pulls it over my shoulders. I fidget, feeling awkward. "Um, Gale?"

"No. Katniss, listen, I'm really sorry about what happened… you know, with Peeta. And, I really wish—I mean, he's not a bad guy, and he's admittedly really nice and everything, and I don't hate him for what… for what you two supposedly have, but I just want to know that, I'm still here. And… well, the Capitol isn't here. So you don't… you don't have to pretend. How you feel. Here," he finishes awkwardly. He pauses, and looks away nervously.

I don't know how to react, and then, his eyes meet mine. He sighs, cups my chin in his calloused hand, and leans forward. I'm fully aware that my blood is pulsing extremely fast, and at that second, right then and there, all I want to do is feel his lips on mine. I close my eyes, tilt my head, and my heart rate accelerates. We're so close I can feel his breath when--

"Gale! Hey, kid! Get over here!" Gale jumps back, knocking into a box of apparently, something heavy because it falls to the floor with a metal sound that reverberates throughout the room.

"Ow! Dammit!" mutters Gale, rubbing his head.

"Gale?" Haymitch's voice, loud, annoyed, and a lot less slurred than normal accompanies the sound of heavy footsteps getting closer and closer.

"What did I do?" whispers Gale to me, looking around frantically, wearing the same expression as one of the does who step into a clearing at spot us. He looks so scared that for a second, I forget I'm mad at him and laugh out loud. He wearily shoots me half a smile before the door flies open and Haymitch storms in.

"Gale! Do you mind explaining to me why I found four cases of liquor in your room?" Haymitch is so mad, his nostrils are flaring.

"Well… I mean, I thought you could start drinking a little less… you know, 'cuz you're always so mad and stuff," by now, Gale is backtracking, and he's slowly slinking backwards. "Not that you're always mad, personally, I find you very kind, but others—"

"Come with me, boy." Haymitch drags a terrified-looking Gale out the door, while I stand there, suppressing a laugh. Until it hits me. This is the perfect moment; this might be the only chance I have! I run over to the emergency exit, and pull down on the red bar. It doesn't move. Desperate, I go down on my knees and put all my weight on that bar, mentally begging it to open. And it does. It slides open and I almost fall out. I'm shrieking, the wind buffeting my clothes and my hair, making every strand that hits my face string more than a slap. Gale's sweater is pulled off my shoulder, and it doesn't fall like I thought it would, but whips past the hovercraft. And now I'm crying, laughing, screaming, numb, as I force myself into the vehicle.

I slide down the wall, the exit right next to me, still open, but it's not pulling at me anymore. Now I can hear my rasping breaths and dry sobs, and my face feels raw. I compose myself, and get up. Always making sure I'm holding onto something, I make my way to the food section of the supplies room, and drag over one of those big boxes that Gale knocked over. I tip it open, and loaves of bread fall out. Perfect. Now, we'll be forced to make a landing soon. I kick all of them out, and then the box, too. I can imagine them falling on the earth in some poor, needy district that's starving and smile. I continue doing this, until I've emptied out a little more than half the supplies, feeling pleased with myself.

Grant, a capitol worker and the copilot, flies in screaming, "Gale! Gale! Are you okay? The emergency exit warning went off and… Katniss? What are you doing and… why… are you throwing supplies off the 'craft?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow. That was pretty long, but judging from my own experiences, you guys like long stuff. Welll, hope you enjoyed it! People! You need to tell me if you want it to be a Gale story or a Peeta story! I need your input on this! And plot suggestions work, too. Remember, don't be afraid to be harsh. Wellll see you soon :)

~theWrittenAnonymous

Otherwise known as "L"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Wow. Just looked over some of the stuff I wrote and realized that a page on word is not a lot on fanfic. Soooo, guess that means I'm gonna have to write more. Anyways, I'm really sick and in a bad mood, so that might reflect some of the stuff that's going on. It also explains why I'm uploading in the middle of the school day—I'm not cutting, (Stay in school, kids!) hope you enjoy. This is a chapter you can probably skip if you really feel like it.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Hunger Games, any characters in association with it, or anything by Suzanne Collins.

* * *

Haymitch takes a long swig from his bottle. I look at the range of faces staring out at me. Heavensbee looks aghast. Damiana, a Hungers Games victor with dark skin and luscious, black hair looks sympathetic. Hanroff, a district seven winner with scars up and down his forearms looks disapproving. Finnick is looking down, not meeting my gaze. Beetee is nervously pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Haymitch doesn't look surprised. He doesn't look drunk, either, but he appears to be trying very hard to get to that stage. He's almost halfway through with his bottle and the one before is rolling around in circles on the table. Everyone is looking at Haymitch to speak.

Haymitch inspects his bottle. He sighs, and slams it down on the table. Flecks of foul-smelling liquid douse me and I recoil. Heavensbee and Beetee flinch, while Damiana and Hanroff stare readily at Haymitch, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Katniss," he says. "Can you _please_ explain why Grant caught you throwing supplies off the hovercraft?" He looks almost bored, like he'd anticipated this move from me.

"Well," I begin.

"You_ threw _our supplies. _Off _the hovercraft. You threw them off. You _THREW _them off!" screams Haymitch. Apparently, I'd misjudged his mood. "Do you have _ANY _idea how hard," he continues, glaring at me. "How hard, it is, to get food,_ from the Capitol _to feed us? What, did you think throwing bread off this thing would make us move faster? _What were you thinking?_ Flecks of drool are flying toward me, and I'm already in a bad mood from being caught by Grant.

"I thought they would help the people down there. Who were starving," I lie. I figure that this would mask the fact that I only did it to make us stop more quickly, so I could go back to the Capitol to save Peeta. Unfortunately, this only serves to annoy Haymitch more.

"You thought you would_ help _the people. What, did you think the bread would land at the doorsteps of some poor starving family? Did you think you'd save the life of some famished little girl who'd live happily ever after? Most likely, your _little act_ would lead to the deaths of twenty people on this hovercraft, who will _starve to death _because we're in the freaking _middle of nowhere_! Or, or maybe your_ bread _will impale some poor villager through the head! Or land in the middle of the forest, and cause some wild rabbits to fight to death over it! Oh yeah, that'd be _great. _Why don't you throw all of our water off, too, while you're at it? Don't forget the rest of our food, our fuel, hell, why don't you throw some of the _passengers _off while you're at it?" Haymitch is livid, and Damiana and Hanroff are starting to look slightly nervous.

Damiana puts a constraining hand on Haymitch's arm, and he slumps back and closes his eyes. He takes another drink, and puts his head on the table. I'm taken aback by what just happened. Sure, I hadn't expected that he'd like what I'd done, but wasn't this a little drastic?

"Katniss," says Damiana. "Look where we are." She gestures toward the window of the craft, and I turn to my right, and gasp audibly. It's a sheet of white down there. It takes a minute for me to register that this is snow. "They've already turned the 'craft around," she says soberly. "But we won't make it. Because of your act back there, we're going to have to retrace our steps. That will get us back to district twelve, which, as you know, is the closest one to district thirteen."

I groan. "I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to…" I look back over at the snowy expanse below me and my voice trails off. "Will we have to go through… that?"

"Luckily, no. We can make it through about half of the forest that surrounds district twelve. That's not our biggest worry, though. As Gale informed you, there is no longer a district twelve. Our best chance is to get to the edge of the forest, gather supplies, and pray that we don't run out of fuel on the way to district three, the only place we can get a working hovercraft and fuel. However, that's not the most fool-proof plan." She pauses, and looks at me sympathetically. Haymitch moans and she continues.

"Therefore, we need to conserve as much as we can. We'd appreciate if you would stop wasting our supplies, and we need to cut back on our eating. In addition, we need you to ready yourself—you and Gale are our prime hunters, since this is area that both of you are familiar with. Keep in mind that this is probably deeper in the woods than you've ever been, and you're hunting for surplus, not survival."

"Also keep in mind that this is completely and utterly your fault," adds Hanroff helpfully.

I groan. "And how long will it take to get to the forest?"

"About a day and a half, at the speed we're traveling."

I groan again.

"This may not be the worst thing," says a quiet voice.

We all turn around to face Finnick. He's staring straight at me.

"The Capitol likes to put on shows. Data shows that the Capitol has captured some citizens of district twelve, and is… _entertaining _them."

This confuses everyone. "Whaaaaat?" says Hanroff, mystified.

I stare at Finnick, trying to find the hidden meaning behind the words. All he does is widen his eyes at me. And then everything snaps. They're torturing Peeta in front of the audience of district twelve. We're heading toward district twelve.

Haymitch sighs. "I don't know what the hell he just said, but I don't really care. Now get out of my sight," he says, waving his hand and shooing us out of the door. Beetee and Heavensbee practically sprint through the door, while Hanroff, gets up, shoots me a dirty look, flexes his muscles and saunters out of the room. Damiana gets up and leaves, while Finnick stares at me for a second. I nod, and he pushes his chair out and, running a hand through his hair, holds the door for me.

I turn around, and the last thing I see is Haymitch staring forlornly out the window and taking another drink.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Wow, thanks for the reviews! I think that was seven… Anyway, I think the crowd's leaning more toward Peeta, but I'm still deciding. Let me know how you liked that one.

~L


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Still sick. Still bored. Still wondering why no one likes Gale. Well, enjoy. Oh wait, just realized you shouldn't have skipped the last one. Oops. And, oh yeah, when you're telling me if you want this to be a Peeta/Katniss or a Gale/Katniss, can you pleeeaaase review while doing it?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Hunger Games, Catching Fire, or any of the works of Suzanne Collins.

* * *

"It's really cold. Better put on those winter jackets—oh, wait, did you throw those off too?" Haymitch, apparently not over the whole bread episode, says.

Gale is zipping up his coat. "Ready, Catnip?" he says, shooting me a wry smile. "One more time, for old time's sake?"

For some reason, those words feel like an ending, and that scares me. Suddenly, I have a flashback. Peeta's standing in front of me, a sad half-smile playing at his lips as he holds out one hand toward me. "One more time?" he whispers, eyeing me warily. "For the cameras?"

"Katniss?" Gale says, shaking me out of my stupor. "You're crying." I shake my head. He reaches up to wipe it from my face, and then realizes that everyone's staring at him, and instead, runs a hand through his hair. "Um… we should probably go."

I nod. "Let's go." Gale takes off into the woods, and I run after him. Gale's running, stealthily, so quietly through the woods that I can hear every breath I take, every twig I snap, my heart rate slowly accelerating in the heat of the chase. Suddenly, everything else is blurred, and the only thing I can see is Gale, the bow slung over his shoulder, ducking under branches, zigzagging through the trees; suddenly, I'm desperate not to lose him. I can't let him get away from me, so I speed up, but I can't catch him. He laughs, and turns around. "One more time?" he says, laughing, but his voice is echoing through my head, and I'm on my knees. "Sing," orders a feeble voice behind me. I turn around, and a hand goes to my mouth. Rue is on the ground, one hand on her chest, the other reaching out toward me. "You have to promise to win." And it's suddenly Prim on the floor, begging for me to come home while she lays there, bleeding to death.

I gasp, and stop running. Gale whirls around, arrow already notched and pointed at me, and everything slowly comes back into perspective.

"What just happened?" demands Gale.

"I… I don't know. Let's just keep going." Gale pulls me back to my feet, and we continue our trek, though he makes me go first this time.

After I get over my haunting vision, I'm surprised by how much I miss being here, alone, with Gale, without having to worry. Already, he looks more alive, the color returning to his features, his eyebrows relaxing from the tense state they were always in on the hovercraft. It occurs to me that it's been forever—how long was it? Since the first Games? That we've been so in sync like this, had so little on our minds. There's a flash of white in the underbrush, and two arrows hit it at the same time. We stop to examine our hit, and I'm satisfied that both arrows have pierced the rabbit in the left eye.

Gale grins. "Niiiice," he says nodding appreciatively. "Good to see you haven't lost it." I laugh, feeling free and happy. We climb back onto our tree after carefully hiding our kill in the brush.

A couple hours later, we've taken down four rabbits, five squirrels, and even a lynx, an amazing catch, even for us. I slide down the trunk of the tree, satisfied, and I'm about to check our snares when a trident sails past my head and impales itself in a tree a couple yards behind me. "What…?" I gasp. Gale slides down and lands at the base of the tree, and both of our arrows are notched and pointed at the direction the trident came from.

Finnick crashes through the clearing, sweating and shouting profanities.

"You idiot!" shouts Gale. "Are you trying to scare off all the prey?"

Finnick turns around, wide-eyed. "Don't shoot!"

Gale reluctantly lowers his bow. "Why the hell did you just throw a trident at her?" he demands.

Finnick glares at Gale. "There was a squirrel."

Gale stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "You threw a _trident _at _that_?" he says.

"I don't know how to work a bow and arrow!"

"Yeah, apparently you don't know how to work your _brain_, either."

"Like you'd last a second in the woods without your precious arrows!"

"You know _what_, Finnick? No one asked you—"

A mouse scuttles over my feet. Some birds fly off to the direction we set camp, obviously sensing some disturbance. Something is wrong. "Be quiet!" I say.

They stop yelling at each other and turn to stare at me. Something is coming from our left, some kind of warbled speech. It's extremely faint, but sounds like it's been amplified, if that makes any sense. It's evident that they can they can hear it too, because Gale's eyebrows scrunch up, and Finnick goes to get his trident.

We trek a little farther, and come to the edge of a lake. It somehow looks familiar, with a shallow little bank and clear water. I frown, bend over, and push my fingers through the muddy bank. Blue, tubular roots come up. Katniss. Then it hits me. This is my lake, the lake my father showed me, one of our only sacred places. But this is the other end. So that means… district twelve is at the other side.

But then what is this…sound? Finnick comes up behind me and raises his eyebrows. "Guess we know what we heard earlier," he says.

What? I glance across the water and gasp. Even from this distance, I can see that there are planes circling overhead, where district twelve used to be. The noise starts up again, and I can hear it clearly across the water.

"Who will today's tribute be?" It's not Effie who says this, at least I don't think it is, but it still shakes me.

"What the hell?" gasps Gale.

"And today's match is… Sae Donner versus Johansson Miller," says the cheerful voice.

"So they're doing it here," muses Finnick.

I turn on him. "Is this what you meant by _entertainment_, Finnick? Watching two district twelve citizens fight each other? Why didn't you _say _something? Why didn't you care?!" I scream. I thrust my hands out and push him on the chest. He staggers backwards, but regains his balance. "What the hell? Did you _know _this was happening?"

"Katniss…" says Finnick.

"How long has this been going on? How long have you known this was happening?"

"Katniss… I didn't…"

"You _knew._ On the 'craft. You didn't care. What if this was district four, huh? How would you feel watching Annie die at the hands of one of your best friends?"

He grabs my wrists and wrenches them away. "I didn't know, okay? I didn't know that this is what they meant! I was watching television reports broadcasted to the Capitol! Do you honestly think I would keep this from you?!"

I draw my hands back, still breathing heavily.

"Stop it," says Gale. I'd forgotten he was there, and both of us turn to look at him. He's staring intently across the water.

"So, Peeta, what made you choose these two citizens?" asks the voice compatibly.

I gasp, and Finnick automatically takes a step back.

Gale turns around, biting his bottom lip. "At least we know what's going on now," he says. "They're pitting citizens of twelve together. They're making Peeta choose who fights who. And they're making everyone watch."

Tears well up in my eyes. This is the ultimate form of punishment for Peeta, I know. Even in the games, when he was competing, he was only there to save others. But now, he can't save anyone. The only thing he can do is pit the sickest, weakest, most elderly together to buy the children and mothers a few extra days. After that, all he can do is watch, knowing there's nothing he can do.

This is Peeta's personal hell.

This is my fault.

* * *

**Author's Note:** God, that was depressing. I'm sure when I get over this stupid cold the chapters will be a lot less sad, but personally, I liked that chapter a lot. Please review. And, oh yeah… jeez, I just forgot. Well, I feel like crap, so don't blame me.

~L


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Well, it's been a while. I was going to update as soon as I got two more reviews, but unfortunately that didn't happen, so I just gave up. The good thing is that I now have a lot more chapters in storage, and I plan on releasing them slowly and painfully. (:P) And this story is going to be _really _long. I already have, like, seven more chapters. But now I'm stuck. (Btw, you can skip this one.)

Disclaimer: "The Hunger Games" trilogy belongs to Suzanne Collins. All characters belong to her, and therefore, the use of this text is not for profit.

* * *

Gale throws down his bow as Haymitch, looking unusually sober, loads the hovercraft with the prey we've just caught. It's been a week and a half since that first day in the forest, and things have grown tense and awkward between all of us. Gale hardly talks, choosing instead to stay sullen and quiet. Haymitch seems unchanged, flat, unemotional. His alcohol intake hasn't changed at all, and his red-rimmed eyes don't betray anything.

He slams the food storage door, and it bangs into something metal on the floor. Gale, Finnick and I flinch. We all seem to be lost in our own worlds. Finnick runs a hand through his hair, Gale is looking at his feet, eyebrows scrunched, and I'm crossing and uncrossing my arms. Haymitch sighs, muttering something under his breath, and kicks the little metal object. The storage door swings shut, pushing out a final cloud of wispy, cold air. It rushes out, and hangs in the air. I stare at it--I'm transfixed by its beauty. It doesn't belong, but it's hanging on. It slowly dissipates, and a delicate, shimmering little spray rains down.

Haymitch leans against the wall and rubs his temple. "Life is so damn hard," he mutters. He looks down, looking thoughtful, then looks directly at me. "Let's go."

Gale stares at him for a second, then blinks. "What?"

Haymitch turns around. "We have enough food. We have to get to district 3."

"No! You can't!" says Gale, panicked. "I mean, shouldn't we help them? District 12, I mean?"

"We can't. We don't have enough time."

"You can't just leave them! They're your friends, too!"

"We either let them die or die with them."

"Are you serious?!"

Haymitch pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "We. Have. To. Go. Now."

Gale glares at him. "Don't talk to me like I'm retarded."

"Don't act like you are."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

My head is spinning, and my knees go week. _Would he really do it? Would he make us leave without even attempting to help them? Does he seriously have no district loyalty? _

The world is convulsing, and for some reason, the back of my eyes sting. My hands reflexively went up to the sides of my head, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I need to make it stop; make that humming noise disappear. Haymitch and Gale are still at it, and I think I can still hear snippets of Finnick's voice. They warp together, swirling, and just as I think I'm going insane, it all snaps into perspective. All I need is time.

"One day," I croak.

Everyone stops talking. Haymitch sighs as three pairs of eyes bore into his. "Fine!" he says. "Whatever. We leave tomorrow. Just _shut up_."

He walks away, leaving me to figure out how I can save an entire district in a day.

* * *

Author's Note: The next chapter is coming today. I think this was my shortest chapter yet... Merry belated Christmas.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Well. Here it is. The next chapter. And, whoa! That was a lot of reviews, and fast. And that has inspired me to write more. (See how this works? REVIEW!) Thank you for all the new additions, Firestar93, xxgabigailxx, and Pita-BreaD-RoCkS, Katy-chan, and Team Peeta36 especially for your essay. I've decided to make Gale more macho-like on behalf of your review. And I already have something planned for Haymitch. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I still don't own the works of Suzanne Collins.

* * *

"We're not going hunting, are we?" asks Gale, shifting his pack over his shoulder. He knows me too well.

"Not food," I say. I'm scanning the lake. It's bigger than I remember, and all of a sudden my plan doesn't seem so flawless anymore. If Finnick were here, that'd be different. He could cut across the water with agility and stealth. I'd be lucky if I didn't attract every person on the other side of the lake before I'd made it half-way through, and it'd be a miracle if Gale managed to dog-paddle a couple yards without drowning.

I sighed. _Here I was again, running straight into some insane plot. Let's hope this isn't when my luck starts running out._

"Here's the plan. We make it across the lake somehow. Then one of us sends out an alarm—"

"That's not going to work, Katniss," says Gale, fiddling with his bulging pack again.

I look up, surprised. "I know it's a long shot," I say.

"It's impossible."

"Gale! Stop being selfish! We have to get them out of there somehow!"

"Yeah. We do. So how about we follow my plan?"

Intrigued, I decide to play along for a few minutes. "And that would be…?"

"We don't have enough time. Let's just go,"

"It's dawn, Gale."

Maybe he can't hear me, because he runs off, bow slung over his back. I have no choice but to follow him, because I know once I lose sight of him, he's gone.

We zigzag through the trees in a complicated pattern, and if I didn't know him better, I'd think he was purposely trying to confuse me. Trees flash past us, but the woods are eerily silent, almost holding its breath. Almost as if they can sense the oncoming storm. I shake my head and scold myself for letting trees frighten me, and keep my eyes on Gale, who's picking up the pace.

We stay like that for a while, and just as I think my lungs are going to burst open, he comes to an abrupt stop. I don't see this coming, and I lurch forward, subconsciously drawing in my breath to let out a surprised squeal. Fortunately, Gale grabs me by the collar of my jacket, jerks me around, and puts his hand over my lips.

I'm fully aware that we're both breathing really hard, and I can feel his blood pulsing all around me. I tug on his arm, signaling that I'm okay, and he lets go, still not looking at me. I turn around. We appear to be at the edge of the forest. I recognize a pile of rocks Gale and I had assembled that served as our resting-place. It sends a wave of nostalgia over me, and I almost forget we're on an extremely important mission to save almost everyone I've known the past seventeen years.

Gale waves a hand in front of my face, the universal sign for "Are you still there?"

I blink, and nod. We start to creep forward, and soon enough, I can notice the trees thinning. What was dead silent a couple minutes ago has risen to a low hum that sounds somewhat familiar. As we reach the last few straggling trees, we catch sight of something familiar—the electric fence. It's humming and the wires are _vibrating._ It's never been at this voltage before. A guard holding a cigarette and a rifle leans nonchalantly against a tree. _How are we supposed to get past? _

Gale has apparently thought this through already. He squats down, and carefully pulls something out of his pack. Slowly, delicately, he pulls out a length of thick rope about ten meters long. I stare at him, puzzled. He looks up, puts his fists together, and points them in the direction of the guard. Slowly, he pulls his right hand back, and opens his fingers. I understand. He's telling me to shoot the guard.

I don't move. Somehow, I've managed to convince myself that I can get there and back, save everyone, do everything without harming everyone. How many times had I made that mistake already? Resolutely, I swing my bow over and notch it. It's aimed directly at his neck, and I know that if I let go, he'll die. Just like that. No lies, no tricks. In a way, death is so much simpler than life. So much easier, so much more dependable. I remember the last time I killed, back in the second games.

The winners of the Hunger Games are supposed to be invincible. The survivors among the survivors. The best, the ones who live it up after it's all over. The best aren't supposed to kill the best. I knew that. But that wasn't the point of the Quarter Quell. It was supposed to show that even the best could fall. And they did. They fell hard. And in that revelation, I knew I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill the man.

I looked at Gale, and simply shook my head. He didn't look at me as he pulled his bow from his shoulder with one hand and notched it with another. I blinked, and the guard was on the ground, cigarette still smoking, one hand still on his gun. I stared, fascinated, at the corpse as Gale swung the rope over a high, sturdy, branch. From the angle I was standing, I couldn't see the arrow sticking out of his neck, the pool of blood probably forming beneath him. It was strange, standing there, watching the color drain out of his eyes, his face. I snapped out of it as something hit me across the face.

"Ow—" I gasped.

"What the hell are you doing?" whispered Gale fiercely. "This is kind of _EXTREMELY _important!"

"Yeah, I know. I just…" I looked back at the man. "N-Never mind. Let's just go."

We quickly scale the tree, and Gale motions for me to go first. I reach for the knot, take a deep breath, and swing. Gale's calculated correctly and I land softly on the ground. I swing the rope back and he catches it and jumps in one smooth motion. He lands on his palms and feet, and runs off.

I follow, wishing he'd at least give me a signal or something the next time he takes off.

We're at the main square now, right beside the candy shop. It smells like ashes. The windows are dusty and broken, and the inside of the shop is littered by broken glass and broken tables. The shop owner must have put up quite a fight, since blood splatters covered part of the wall.

I don't want to see the destruction, so I turn around to look at the square. Big mistake.

It's suffered by far the most damage. Wisps of smoke swirl out of dark, indented craters in the earth. The shops closest to the center look like the embers at the heart of the fire—black, smoldering, and unrecognizable. Worst of all, however, is not the appearance, but the use.

People I recognize are all standing together, huddled in the middle of the square. Even from this distance I can see burn scars, whiplash injuries, even missing limbs. Armed soldiers surround them on all sides. Their crisp uniforms do not belong in this world of extreme poverty and broken souls. I try to see who I recognize, and I note with a sinking heart that barely half of the former district 12 is still alive. I catch sight of Saroline Adams, a sweet little girl barely five holding on to the hand of Merille Donner, Madge's mother.

The sound of electronic fanfare sounds, and Saroline winces and buries her head in Merille's skirt, and as she does so, I catch sight of her horribly mutilated face. It's completely scorched and blisters are oozing pus. Even Gale has to gasp at the sight of this.

"Who will be today's tribute?" booms a voice that surrounds the arena. "Peeta Mellark—" Gale stiffens at this, "is here with us. Say, Peeta, who do you think will win this one?"

Peeta's face goes up on the screens. It focuses on him for a couple seconds, waiting for him to says something, but he doesn't.

My hands go up to my ears and I close my eyes, a futile attempt to block out what's about to be said. Gale's standing ramrod straight, staring at the giant screen in the front of the square.

"Today's rules are a little different, though. As a celebration for the 25th match, we've decided to do our own Quarter Quell, an homage to our time-honored event in the actual Games. Today, we are pitting the youngest citizen of the district with the oldest citizen of the district. Saroline Adams and Jeremio Hunt, please come up."

We watch in horror as guards come up and lead Saroline away. She doesn't say anything; she just gives a sad little wave. Moans break out over the crowd, and a woman starts sobbing uncontrollably. Abruptly, quickly, the cries stop, and we see a pair of guards run over to the center of the square. The crowd parts for them, and they drag away the body of a woman, tears still glistening on her cheeks, a hole in her forehead, mouth still open in half a wail.

Gale turns away from me and falls to his knees, heaving out his breakfast. His hand is on his throat to silence his cries, but tears run down his throat. I kneel down beside him and pat him on the back. He shakes his head and grits his teeth, but his eyes are shut. There's something he doesn't want to see. I wrap my arms around him and look back at the square. I see why. The body they are carrying is of Gale's mother.

I watch, horror-stricken as they carry her, stiff as wood, into the former tavern.

"Wait," says a voice. It's old, and cracks like old paper, but it carries across the square. Jeremio, at the hands of two guards, is looking in the direction of Gale's mother. "Can I say good-bye to my daughter? Before…" his voice trails off.

I see the guards exchange glances, then lead the old man towards the body. He walks with a limp, and his torso bends severely forward with each step. Every eye is on this man.

When he finally makes it, he looks down at her. He stands like this for maybe a minute, and the guards start fidgeting. Then, slowly, painfully, he lifts his shaking, arthritis-ridden hand, and puts his middle three fingers to his lips. He pushes them outward. Saluting his dead daughter.

Gale is looking now, everyone is. And, as Jeremio turns around and slowly makes his way to the arena, even the voice over the speakers has nothing to say. Someone coughs, loudly, and I look over. A guard is coughing, pounding his chest. He looks away from the crowd and directly at us. We lock eyes, and I'm so surprised by what just happened I don't even have time to draw my bow. I'm ready to be taken away by a flock of guards, but that doesn't happen.

Because tears are running down his face. He offers me a small smile, and does the last thing I expect. He nods, puts three fingers to his lips, and pushes them out toward me.

* * *

Author's Note: Wow, that was long. Sorry, I gave myself a headache reading that. I also made myself cry… :'( If you want me to split it into two chapters, I will. Sorry for the absence of romance, but I thought this was pretty important.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: I reached my goal of five reviews, so I'm baaaack Tell me what you think! Also, if you catch any grammatical errors feel free to tell me because going back through my old work and reading stuff like that just pisses me off…

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, or any characters created by or in association with Suzanne Collins.

* * *

They say that when a man is sleeping, he looks years younger. He is innocent, pure, undisturbed by anything haunting him when the sun is up. Ironic that they find the darkness a refuge, a safe haven. Whoever thinks that is an idiot.

I wrap my arms around my legs and make sure my bow is at close proximity. I lean against the oven and do a final sweep to make sure there are no guards too close by.

We're in Peeta's bakery, and the smell of fresh bread that still hangs in the air is driving us positively insane. It's either that or the intoxicating knowledge that this used to be the busiest store on the square, and is now a run-down shack. The front of the store is completely destroyed—there's absolutely no glass anymore, and the roof hangs half-hazardly over empty space.

The back of the store is better—the stoves are in pretty much the same condition, and the counter has withstood most of the damage. From the front of the store, we are completely invisible, and I'm keeping guard over the back door. I close my eyes for a second. Back to when we, Peeta and I, had our first life-changing experience. Back when he was the "Boy with the Bread." Back when I was starving and dying, but still blissfully ignorant of what the Capital was capable of. I'd give so much to be back there right now…

Gale stirs and says something that says something that sounds a little bit like "Ughhh."

I continue studying him. His eyebrows aren't creased the way they have been lately, and his mouth hangs slightly open in a relatively neutral position, but there's something about him that still looks distinctly vulnerable. Maybe it's the way his head is positioned over his pack, the way his chin sticks almost straight up into the air, leaving his neck completely exposed. Maybe it's the way one of his hands is open and relaxed while the other is clenched shut, knuckles turning white. I brush the hair out of his eyes carefully, and examine his features.

Thin, chapped lips that are dry and look like they'll crack at any second. A straight, narrow, nose, delicately lidded eyes. Long, thick, almost feminine lashes that just barely touch the purple and blue bags under his eyes. Eyebrows that always betray his emotion, raised in disbelief, creased in concentration, flat in fury. I know every nuance, the meaning behind every single subconscious twitch.

It's probably about time to wake Gale up, but I decide to let him sleep. I glance outside and something flashes from the corner of my eye. I pull my bow up, ready. It's just a pair of guards heading away from our direction. I relax slightly, and watch as they saunter off. One of them pauses, and tilts his head up. His partner also stops to look at the sky.

Something stirs in my stomach, some kind of primal sense of danger. "Gale…" I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. "Gale!" I repeat, louder. He shoots up.

"What? Katniss? What is it?" Gale's eyebrows crease, and he looks out.

At first it's a fluttering breeze. It plays with our hair, makes us shiver. Then the sound comes. It's foreign, but somehow familiar. It's like when you're in the next room, and you hear the television. You know what it is, but you don't.

It's the sound of a fragile tree in a storm, the branches knocking together, the wind. Then it picks up the pace. It sounds like the wind is at war with itself, and I don't know what to make of it. I'm scared.

"Gale…?"

"That was fast." He's staring intently at something outside, but I don't see anything. The guards must have left, because I just see the district. Sure, it's destroyed, broken, but that's nothing new. Suddenly, the wind that was once a mere tickling breeze turns into biting wind. It claws at our clothes, tugs at our skins. Dust and debris is flying at us, and it's clogging my eyes. Somehow, I can't close them. Bile rises to my throat. I can't stand it when my senses are limited. Gale pushes me to the floor, and that saves my life. The glass behind us shatters. The world explodes.

The last thing I remember is a white light that emphases the whole world. For that second, I can only see Gale, next to me, perfectly calm, eyes half-lidded in resignation. His eyes shift toward me, and his words burn into my brain. "They know we're here."

* * *

I don't wake up with my eyelids fluttering, my brain scrambling to figure out what happens. I don't wake up panicked, don't have no idea where I am. When you're hit with a flash bomb like I was, the steps back into consciousness aren't fun. It hurts like hell. And the worst part is waking up.

My eyes flick open. When I first open my eyes, everything is still white. I wait patiently until my eyes adjust. They don't. I finally figure out that the ceiling _is _white. I roll my shoulders, jerk my neck around. I sit up and pull my legs over the side of the bench I'm sitting on. I test each one of my fingers, my toes, my joints. A little stiff, but not unmanageable. I look forward, and see Gale sitting cross-legged, maybe ten feet away. His fingers are on his temples. He points to his left.

"Peeta!" I stand up and gingerly put one foot forward. He smiles widely at me, but then shakes his head forebodingly as I attempt to take another step forward. I take another step, and then another. The next one sends me right into a glass wall. Thankfully, the speed I was moving was no where enough to hurt me. I simply stop and put my hands up against the glass. Walk around experimentally. Both Gale and Peeta follow my movements with their eyes. Peeta's standing up and is pressed against his glass cell, but Gale remains at his position on the floor. I sink back to my bench when I realize there's absolutely no way out. What happened to the old-fashioned bars?

I look around at my surroundings. My cell isn't uncomfortable, actually. It's quite simple. A toilet, a bed, a bench. All white. "Where are we?" I ask Peeta.

He shakes his head. He points to his ears, and then points to Gale.

I put my hands in front of me and walk until my palms hit the glass. "Where are we?" I repeat, looking at Gale this time. By now, I've figured out that the cell is soundproof. Those Capitol idiots probably put the glass walls between us, thinking it'd torture us to be this close, yet unable to touch or hear each other. They probably haven't realized that after spending half a decade hunting together, Gale and I have learned to read each other's lips.

"Prison," he mouths. "Wait for Haymitch."

I feel a flash of irritation at this. Leave it to Haymitch to make yet another ridiculously complicated plan and completely leave me out of it. After all, isn't that what he's been doing all along?

Gale quickly outlines the entire plan. Gale and I would make our way into the heart of the district 12 camp. There, we would stay hidden until the Capitol people found us. Apparently, Gale knew swinging a rope over the fence wouldn't fool the alarm systems Snow's men set up. He also knew it was only a matter of time before they came for us and sent us to this cell, and torture us by putting the three of us together. Then, Grant, our double-agent who was supposed to arrive with the helicopter last night, would turn Finnick in to drown any suspicions, and during his shift he'd neutralize the alarms, and during his watch, he'd let all of us out.

I could see many holes in the plan—first of all, why would Haymitch send both of us in? Second of all, how could he explain how he'd found Finnick? How were we supposed to escape both the prison and the district? Was this really the most sensible option?

When I ask Gale these questions, he just nods. "Trust Haymitch," he says. He refuses to say more, but I can tell from the way he's biting his bottom lip that he knows more than he's telling me.

I turn my attention back to Peeta, but he, too is completely ignorant. I resolve myself to wait until Grant brings Finnick in.

I have no idea how long it takes, but soon enough, I see a squad of uniformed men bring Finnick in. He looks relatively unhurt, but his eyes are darting around like crazy. They push him into the cell and push a button. The glass slams down, and then all but disappears. His eyebrows scrunch together, and he kicks the glass. He pauses, and then presses his palms against it. His eyes widen, and he looks panicked. He's breathing heavily, and he looks around wildly. He looks past the glass and sees Peeta, who waves half-heartedly. He looks to the left, and sees me. He locks eyes with me, and jerks his chin toward Grant, who's surrounded by the men. They're patting him on the back and laughing. They don't look entirely sober.

"He's on our side," I say out loud.

Finnick shakes his head. He looks frantic. He catches sight of Gale, and tears start sliding down his face. He's waving his hands around, trying to get his attention. Gale doesn't look at him. Peeta's watching this exchange with a concerned look on his face. I'm torn. Maybe Finnick knows what Gale's not telling us.

I pound on the glass. Finnick turns to look at me. "What?" I scream. "What's wrong?!"

Finnick says something, but he's shaking and crying so hard I can't read his lips.

I shake my head. "What?"

Finnick blinks rapidly a couple times. He swallows, and wipes his face. He tries one more time, speaking clearly, but I still can't tell what he's saying.

Like the Capitol people, every district has a different accent. From what I've gathered, most mutilated tongues are the ones of the districts closet the Capitol. Being from district 4, there's going to be no way I can read his lips. He seems to know this, and slumps down, resigned.

Gale is still looking at Finnick. I can tell he knows I'm watching him, but he pretends not to notice. I know I'm not going to get any answers from Gale, so I lie down on my bed and try to get some sleep.

I'm awoken by the sound of light footsteps. I instinctively reach for my bow, but it's not there. Grant stands at the foot of my bed. Finnick and Peeta are already outside their cells, and Gale is still sitting on the floor, watching us. I stand up and pad toward Peeta. I reach out toward him, but before I can do anything, he grabs my wrist and pulls me into an embrace. I bury my face into his chest, feel his warmth, listen to the beat of his heart. He's alive. We're both alive. Everything's going to be okay.

"Let's go," mutters Grant. Peeta reluctantly lets go of me, and I look up and see Finnick watching us.

"What were you saying before?" I whisper.

"Shh!" says Grant. "You guys can talk later." Is it just me, or is he afraid of what Finnick has to say?

Gale comes up from behind us, and Grant leads the way. He chooses a roundabout route through a couple of corridors. They all look exactly the same. I'm starting to wonder why there's absolutely no one here. Shouldn't there be someone making sure the most important prisoners in the world don't escape? We turn around one final corner, and we meet a pair of guards. My breath catches in my throat.

"Klaris," one of them says. "Why are they out of their cells?"

"Oh, you know," says Grant nonchalantly. The General said to give them a little 'motivation' to stay in their cells, if you know what I mean."

"Oh. Oh, you know, we thought you were 'letting them escape,' if _you _know what I mean." He bursts out laughing, and his breath stinks of alcohol. Gale is staring at him, his eyes narrowed. Maybe I'm not the one who's slightly suspicious.

"Well. Well, go ahead. But make sure they don't get away." More snickers.

Grant nods, enters a combination and pulls the heavy door open. We get about four feet before we come to another door. This time, he pauses before opening it. "The people you see there," he says. "You're going to recognize them. They're your family members. Your closest friends." He pauses. "But they're not real. They're clones. They cloned them about the same time they got their voices back in the dome." I shudder as I remember the mockingjays from the arena. "They're going to beg you to save them. They'll pretend they know you, but they don't. Don't look at them, don't listen to anything they say to you."

Finnick's not convinced. "Why would they clone them?" he demands.

Grant turns toward him. "As I said before, it's motivation. They figured that if they threatened to kill them, you wouldn't try to escape. Now can you shut up and just go?"

Finnick bites his lip. I'm not too fond of the idea, either, but I steel myself.

"Are we clear?" demands Grant. We nod. "Oh yeah, also, I'm not allowed to go in there. From this point on, all you do is get through that hall, and run straight. Once you get into the woods, I trust you know where you're going?" He looks to Gale, who nods. "Okay. Remember. They're not your friends." And with that, he opens the door.

I look back one more time at Grant. Something's off, but I can't place it. Peeta steps into the room and freezes.

"Peeta..?" I hear. "Peeta! You're okay!" I step in, and see Peeta's father, the baker. He's behind bars, and his hand is reaching out. He touches Peeta's shoulder, and Peeta shudders.

"Keep moving!" I whisper. His shoulder twitches, but he steels himself and walks on. I tell myself that I won't be moved, that I can do this, but when I see Prim, I can't help but stop.

"Katniss! She squeals. "Katniss!" She's on her knees in a dimly lit cell, and she's thinner than before. Gale pushes me forward, and I force myself to move. "Katniss?" she says. "Why are you leaving?" I don't look at her and take another step forward. Her tiny hand locks around my ankle. "Please," she begs. I square my shoulders, and flick her hand off. I keep walking, ignoring the dark bags under my Mother's eyes, the look of betrayal. _It's not them. _I tell myself. _They're not real._ Behind me, I can hear Gale's siblings crying out his name. His footsteps are steady. I turn around, and his eyes are expressionless.I keep walking. We're almost there. I can see the exit. Peeta's already made it to the end. I see a woman with blond hair whose eyes are locked on Finnick. A man with the same bronze-colored hair as Finnick has his arm around her. _Almost there…_

Finnick walks past them briskly, then falters. The woman in the last cell isn't looking at him. She's staring straight ahead. She's playing with a lock of her hair and her mouth hangs open. It's Annie. She looks up and spots Finnick. "Oh!" she squeals. "I know you!" Finnick stands there, transfixed. Gale prods him.

"We have to go! Forget about them!" I say. He doesn't move, until Gale all but drag him through toward the exit. We all step through the door, and I'm embraced by a gust of cool air.

Peeta slips his hand into mine. "They're not real," he reminds me gently. I nod, blinking back tears.

We stand there a moment, and then run off into the night.

* * *

When I wake up, I'm back in my room on the hovercraft. We're airborne, but that's not what makes me throw up. After dry heaving for a couple more minutes, I know there's nothing left for me to do but find Haymitch.

I hear muffled voices coming from the conference room, so that's where I head. I tentatively open the door just in time to see Peeta's palms slam into Gale's chest. He tackles him. Gale doesn't attempt to fight back.

"You knew!" he screams. "You knew all along! You let him lie to us! You let us…" he shudders.

"Peeta! What are you doing?! Get off him!"

He whirls toward me. I automatically step backward. I've never seen him so mad before. "Get off him?! Katniss, he knew!"

"What? Knew what?"

Haymitch steps forward and looks me in the eyes. "Knew that the prisoners in the cell weren't clones," he says. "They were the real thing."

I take a step back. "You're lying. Grant said."

"Grant was a traitor. Grant lied to you so the capitol could make this." He nods to the TV and points the remote at it.

"Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark: heroes, saviors? Or are the faces of the rebellion really just a fraud? We look at the clip from two years ago, back at the seventy-fourth games," says a woman with violet eyes and pink hair.

The screen cuts to a clip of me at the interview. "So can you explain this?" says Caesar. It shows me volunteering to take the place of Prim, and then goes back to me at the interview. "She's my little sister," I say. "And she means the world to me."

It goes back to the reporter. "That is, indeed, Katniss Everdeen during the interview. But look at this—"

The screen goes to a new clip—it shows Peeta, Gale, Finnick and me at the cells where the 'clones' were. I see Prim squealing with happiness as she sees me, and then I see my blank, unemotional face. Her smile wavers. "Katniss?" she says. "Why are you leaving?" I take a step, and she wraps a weak hand around my ankle. "Please," she says hoarsely. I shake off her hand and keep walking. It cuts to me saying, "We have to leave! Forget about them." The final clip is of Prim sobbing in my mother's arms while the door slams shut behind us. It flashes to President Snow, who is reading something out loud. "We want Finnick Odair, Gale Hawthorne, Katniss Everdean, and Peeta Mellark at the Capitol by January 15th. Every day they are late, we will pit one citizen from each district against each other. Every day they don't show up, eleven people will die. Maybe then, each and every one of you will finally believe what we have been telling you all along—only the strongest prevail. And we, the Capitol, are the strongest. Thank you."

Haymitch turns around. Peeta bites his lip, and Gale wipes a streak of blood off his chin.

"Why?" I ask him.

Gale just shakes his head. "Didn't know," he said, his voice cracking. "Didn't know they'd do that."

I turn to Haymitch. "This is all your fault."

He sighs. "Maybe it is," he says, almost thoughtfully. "But you'll learn that there's always a sacrifice."

"Why?!" I scream. "Why is it always _me_ making the sacrifices?"

Haymitch lets out a low, guttural laugh. "Because you're the hero," he says softly. "And the hero never gets a happy ending."

"But why?" I ask, tears streaming down my face.

"Because a hero is someone who gives everything—and I mean _everything _up for the happiness of others."

"That's not fair."

Haymitch locks eyes with me. "You have no idea."

"You've been drinking too much."

He smiles slightly, and before I can figure out what I saw in his eyes, he pulls me into a hug.

He doesn't smell like alcohol.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry for the slow update. I took this CTY thing and I just got the results. My dad went insane making me read the brochures, and you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. Well, please review!


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Been a while, guys. Do I have any readers left? Nahh, I don't think so. Guess we'll find out, right?

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games trilogy belongs to Suzanne Collins.

* * *

I pull my comforter around me more tightly. Peeta's sitting at the foot of my bed, sketching something in black ink. I close my eyes and listen to the rhythmic scratching. Sunlight filters through the blinds, and the hovercraft is gliding so smoothly that if I couldn't see outside, I'd doubt it was even moving.

I pull the sheets up to my nose. "Peeta?"

He turns to look at me. "Hm?"

"Do you think Gale's okay?"

He turns back to his drawing. He doesn't say anything.

"Peeta?" I say tentatively.

He sighs. "I really don't know. I mean, he's been through a lot. And if you think about it, it was harder on him. I mean… we thought they were clones. He knew they weren't. Can you imagine…?"

He locks eyes with me. Does he look different? Not older, exactly. I've never been good at reading emotions on anyone but Gale. "And then that video." He tilts his head and looks out the window. "Even Haymitch didn't see that one coming." His eyebrows crease. "I think."

I laugh, but I think we both notice the note of hysteria in it. We settle back into silence. He resumes scratching the paper, and I watch him work. I can't tell what it is—it's just a bunch of light lines and scribbles. He adds in a few dark lines, and then falters. He puts the pencil down. "He'll be okay," he says finally. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but obviously thinks better of it.

I look down. Aren't I always doing this? Hiding myself away, cocooning myself from all my troubles? And when has it ever worked? I think back to the day they announced what the Quarter Quell would be. I remember how I just ran, how I didn't think about anything but how I would _never_ go back into the arena. Did I think about my family? Of Peeta? Of Gale?

Peeta went straight to Haymitch. During the first games, he led Cato away from me. During the second, he tried to die for me. I'd always thought I was strong. I led my family through my father's death, I hunted. I survived. Did that mean I had strength?

"Will you?" I ask him.

He doesn't stop drawing. "Will I what?" he asks flatly.

"Will you be okay?"

He keeps sketching. "…Yeah." he says. "Yeah, I'll be fine." He puts his chin on his fist and looks at his picture thoughtfully. "I'm hungry," he announces abruptly, throwing his pencil over his picture. "Let's get to breakfast." He extends one hand chivalrously, and grins.

"I'm going to wash up," I tell him. "I'll see you there."

The smile on his face falters, but he nods and walks out, closing the door behind him.

As soon as his footsteps fade away, I stand up and go examine his drawing. It's messily scrawled, but I can easily recognize it as what it is. It's a drawing of Cato, surrounded by the pack of wild dogs. I remember the moment—something like that isn't easy to forget. It's the second before I send an arrow into his neck. It's almost eerie how accurately Peeta's got him down—the bushy brow, the thick lips that are open, beseeching. It hits me. This is the moment Cato asked me to kill him. I turn it over and look away.

When I enter the dining room, only Beetee is at the table. I'd forgotten he was here. He looks up and adjusts his glasses. "How are you doing?" he asks me quietly.

I'm tempted to snap at him, but he looks so earnest I can't bring myself to do it. I take a sip of hot chocolate. It burns my throat but makes me feel warmer. "I'm okay," I tell him. "Where's Peeta?" He should have been here at least ten minutes ago.

"He went to get Gale."

"Alright." I take another sip of hot chocolate, uncomfortable. Everything I do feels out of my comfort zone for some reason. My voice sounds too loud. I can hear my blood pulsing in my ears, my joints creak, but I'm somehow numb. I feel the same way I did after the flash bomb—disoriented.

I watch Beetee's nimble fingers take apart his watch and put it back together in a matter of seconds. He tinkers with it a moment more, and then stops. He seems to be trying to figure out the best way to tell me something.

"District 3 gave in." He awaits my response nervously.

"What do you mean?"

"I… well. Snow said that any district that gave in would be spared."

I'm suddenly not hungry. "Spared from what?" I ask, not looking at him.

Beetee resumes probing the wristwatch, avoiding my question.

"Beetee?" I prompt.

He shakes his head.

"They don't think you'll show up at the Capitol by the deadline. The Capitol said they'd pardon any district that gave in from the eleven-deaths-per-day rule," says Hanroff. I hadn't heard him come in.

"What… does that mean?"

"District 3 has given up on you. They think you'll let them die. Like you let your friends and family die."

I flinch. That was harsh, even for him.

"Will you go?" It's Beetee who asks this.

I look up, surprised. Beetee is peering at me over his spectacles, and Hanroff is watching me intently. I rest my chin on my palm and look over at the breadsticks in the basket. On one hand, if I show up, I might be able to save Prim. Not to mention remind everyone in the Rebellion that I hadn't given up. Then again, wouldn't it be more beneficial if I didn't show up? It would show the people that I was willing to make sacrifices. Sacrifices…

I think back to what Haymitch told me. That because I was the hero, I had to make sacrifices. I had to give up everything I had so others would have…something. And I know what I have to do.

"Yeah," I say. "Yeah, I'll go."

The door slams and Haymitch comes in, sporting a bottle of clear liquid I'm fairly sure isn't water. "Go where?" he asks.

"To the Capitol. To get Prim," I say just as the door swings open a second time, revealing Gale and Peeta. Gale looks well, considering what he went through the day before. He and Peeta aren't exactly on speaking terms, but they don't look like they're seconds from throttling each other, either, which I guess is an improvement.

Haymitch sits down heavily, tilts his head backs, and takes a long swig out of his bottle. "Mmmmm," he sighs. Gale and Peeta sit down. I take note that they sit down on opposite sides of the table.

"What's for breakfast?" asks Peeta.

Gale presses his fingers against his temples in annoyance. "It's sitting right there on the table."

Peeta ignores him, picks up a roll, and butters it.

"What, are you ignoring me now?" demands Gale.

Peeta angrily takes a bite out of roll.

"I did what I had to do!" yells Gale, uncharacteristically emotional.

"So you had to lie to us?" screams Peeta back. "Again?" He slams his fist down on the table and the plates clatter. Beetee's glasses fall off and he scrambles to get them. "You!" he points at Haymitch with his roll. "Didn't we have an agreement? Didn't we say we'd tell everyone everything? No going behind anyone's backs? WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO STOP LYING TO ME?"

"Calm down," drawls Haymitch. "No one got hurt. I just got you out of there alive. If anything, I should be the one waving my breadstick around at everyone. All you ever do is smile and look pretty on TV. I'm the one who did all the work."

"You did all the work?" Peeta's face is red and he's spitting as he talks. "You didn't have to see them. You didn't see their faces. You didn't…" His voice cracks. "You didn't have to walk away from them."

This time it's Hanroff who butts in. "Peeta, leave it. You cannot let your emotions get in your way at this point. Have you decided? Are you going to the Capitol?"

"Have I decided? I don't know, Haymitch, have I decided?" asks Peeta sarcastically.

"Are you going?" This time, Gale's talking to me. It's the first time anyone's acknowledged me since Gale, Haymitch, and Peeta walked into the room.

Suddenly, the table is silent. "Yes," I say.

"I think that's the smartest way to go," says Haymitch.

"No one asked you!" snaps Peeta.

Haymitch ignores him. "District 3's already pulled out. Why? Because they think you won't show. If you do, we'll find a way out of there. Besides, you have the support of the districts. You'll lose that if you don't go, and the rebellion will be as good as over."

"You're over-simplifying it," says Gale. "Do you honestly think the Capitol will announce it if we _do_ show up? Most likely they're just going to quietly execute us and tell the public we never arrived. Also, how are we supposed to get there? There are guards everywhere, and in this hovercraft, we'd get shot as soon as we got within a hundred miles of the Capitol."

Haymitch leans back. "That's why we ditch this thing," he says. "The only way we're going to get to the Capitol alive is if we travel in small groups, on foot. The district people outnumber the guards by at least a hundred fifty to one. They're not going to notice a few unauthorized guests. Here." He grabs a napkin, and pulls out the pen pinned to his shirt collar. "Here's what I propose." He wrote 'Haymitch & Gale,' circled it, and labeled it 'A.' "Here's team A," he said. At this point, even Peeta looked intrigued. Haymitch wrote 'Peeta & Finnick' below that, and labeled it 'B.' Lastly, he wrote 'Katniss & Hanroff' and labeled it 'C.'

"Gale and I go first. They catch us? No big deal. No one cares enough around us. Sure, they'll be questions asked, but we can afford to lose us. He draws an arrow from the big A straight to the top of the napkin. "We take the direct route. Try to get as many people as possible to see us. That way, they'll believe we at least tried." Next, he drew a curved arrow from the big B to the top of the napkin. "That's you guys," he says to Peeta and Finnick. "Considering it's two victors, they'll be all over you guys. And that's when Hanroff and Katniss go, taking the direct route, which, chances are, no one will predict. You lose no time, go as fast as possible." He puts his pen down, satisfied. "Ok?"

Gale nods serenely. "I'm game," he says.

Peeta shakes his head. "I'll do it," he says. "Under one condition. I want Katniss in my group."

Haymitch groans and pulls at his hair. "Peeta! We've gone through this! You are only going to be a liability to Katniss' survival!"

"I'll feel better about her safety when I'm there."

"Do you think she will?" demands Haymitch sharply.

His question hangs in the air. As much as I don't want to admit it, there is truth to in that question. Both games, I'd spent a lot of my energy devoted to keeping Peeta alive. Maybe I would be more efficient without him.

I look back over at Peeta, who's staring daggers at Haymitch. Haymitch is glaring resolutely back. I sink lower in my seat.

"Fine," says Haymitch, caving. "Whatever. But don't come crying to me if you can't keep her safe."

"Wait," I interrupt.

Everyone turns to stare at me.

"You're not seriously considering this, are you?"

Everyone is silent.

"I mean, this is a suicide mission. Our odds of survival are four out of six at best. And that's only if we don't mess up, which we probably will."

"Katniss," says Hanroff. "Weigh your options. It's either this, or the end of the rebellion. And how many more deaths would that be?"

I fall silent, consider his words. Shake my head. "It's always… it's always some variation of this plan," I say. "'Save Katniss,'" I mimick. "'She's priority. Everyone else can die, but Katniss has to live.' Well, I don't want to do it for me. The Capitol asked for the three of us. That means that if one of us shows up, we'll prove to the people we tried. Why is that automatically me?"

Haymitch puts his head in his hands. "We don't have time for this!" he groans. "Fine! Whatever! Group B and C can go together. But we _need _group A as a distraction." He looks at Gale, begging him not to disagree. He doesn't.

I do some quick calculating in my head. It's the tenth. We have five or six days to get there. If Gale's group leaves first, my group will get there just in time. There's going to be barely any time to stop, not to mention hunt or rest. It's not Haymitch's best hatched plan, but it'd have to do.

"When do we leave?" I ask.

"Group A leaves at dawn." _That's Gale,_ I think. This sends a shiver down my spine.

Gale, my best friend, my Gale, could be dead by this time tomorrow. And again, it would be my fault.

* * *

**Author's Note:** My head was not screwed on right when I wrote this. Again, it's been a while since I've written anything and I barely remember the plotline. Please review! It's your reviews that motivate me to update!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: ** Hey guys. It really has been a while-like what? Six months? Well, if you want to know the reason I haven't put anything up in like, half a year, I could lie and tell you I was busy doing stuff. Truth is, I completely forgot about this story. Pathetic, I know. Don't judge me. It's actually the release of mockingjay that made me like "Oh yeah, that's in the Hunger Games trilogy. Wait... Hunger Games... OH MY GOD I HAVE TO FINISH THAT STORY!" Haha, well, for those of you still left, read, enjoy, and review.

* * *

It's a little before 6 in the morning, but it sure doesn't look like it. Each and every one of us is alert, focused. We know what we're doing, how we're doing it, and why. Especially why. It disgusts me.

Haymitch clears his throat. "Here's the new plan," he says, as if we haven't already covered this hundreds of times. Maybe he thinks the more times he goes over it, the higher chance we'll have of succeeding. Based on this logic, everything should go smoothly. Based on common sense, this had to be among the most insane things I've ever done. Anyone's ever done.

"At dawn," he says, "Group A leaves." He sounds reassuring, like there's no way this could go wrong. "This will be me and Gale."

I shudder involuntarily and look over at Gale. He's sitting on the floor, arms crossed, chin tilted up cockily. He doesn't fool me. I close my eyes, and suddenly, I see Gale, in the woods, spending all day hunting to ensure that his family doesn't starve. I see him coming back from the mines, sullen, down, depressed….

I see him watching his mother die in cold blood.

"Katniss!" roars Haymitch.

"What?" I snap.

He jabs a finger at the napkin he holds in his hand. "Did you hear—ANYTHING—I just said?" he says through gritted teeth. He's seething.

"It's not like any of us haven't heard it a thousand times already!" I shoot back. "We all know this thing backwards. How about we spend this time with each other instead of watching you plan our deaths?"

Haymitch drops the napkin and walks around the table. It's not hard to tell he's furious. "Do you understand," he says, leaning over me. "That we are all doing this—'planning our deaths,' as you so eloquently put it—for you? So YOU would survive? Show some respect, girl. The least you could do is show us some gratitute for running to our deaths."

I feel my face burn with shame. He was right. I really was being self-absorbed. These people really were willing to give up everything for me. I look down. "Sorry," I mutter. "Go on."

Satisfied, Haymitch walks back over to his side of the table. "As I was saying," he continues. "Three hours later, at half past nine, group B leaves. This will be Peeta and Finnick—sorry, that's Hanroff and Finnick." He shoots a glare at Peeta. "Even though this will deeply jeopardize our mission." He waits for Peeta to relent. Peeta examines the floor.

Finnick smiles good-naturedly and winks at me. I smile despite myself. I haven't been paying attention to Finnick much lately—I'd been too focused on my own troubles. As far as I can tell, Finnick is Finnick again. Meaning, he's been walking around, smiling, joking, laughing, flirting. This lifts my spirits slightly—you could always count on Finnick to lighten the mood.

Haymitch sighs. "And finally, group C. Peeta and Katniss. Taking the direct route to the Capitol. Beetee…"

My head jerks up, and I manage to catch Beetee just as he gives a slight nod. I'm not the only one to catch it.

"Beetee, what?" says Peeta suspiciously.

"Beetee nothing," says Haymitch firmly.

"Are you seriously doing this again?" Peeta demands.

Haymitch puts his head in his hands. "You don't have to complicate this, you know? Just go with it, alright? You want some wine?" he slides the bottle across the table at Peeta, like a peace offering.

Peeta stands up, enraged. "We're all going to our deaths here. At least tell us what you're hiding. Beetee?" He whirls around and glares at Beetee, who shrinks under the fury of his gaze.

Gale stretches his legs out and leans against the wall. "Peeta, sit down and shut up," he says.

"You!" accuses Peeta, pointing at Gale. "You know what they're hiding, don't you?"

Gale smirks and puts both hands up in an attempt to look like he's innocent. "I know nothing."

Peeta pulls out a chair and sits down so he's looking down at Gale. "It's always like this. It's always you and Haymitch hiding something from me. Well, I deserve to know."

"With all due respect," says Gale harshly, standing up. "No, you don't."

Peeta stands up too, even though he's at least a good inch shorter than Gale. "I'm sorry?" he says, fire in his eyes.

Haymitch groans. "You know what?" he says. "I don't need to see this. I'm gonna tell the captain to land. Gale, meet me at the door at half past six."

Beetee hurriedly follows him out the door. Hanroff, who hasn't said a thing the entire time, also leaves.

Peeta and Gale both ignore this, staring each other down.

"Hey, there's no need for this, you know?" says Finnick. "Let's reminisce all our good times. Remember that time I tried to spear a squirrel? Katniss?"

Peeta continues to glare at Gale. "What do you mean, I don't deserve to know?"

Finnick refused to give up. "Or that time we ate a whole bunch of shellfish at the arena?"

Gale chuckled, and shook his head. "I'm not going to argue this with you, Peeta. Just look at the facts. You want to go with Katniss? Why? Because you love her? Or because you don't want to die for her?"

"Gale, stop it." Even Finnick's realized he's gone too far with that one.

Peeta steps closer to Gale, so that his eyes are level to his nose. Gale raises his eyebrows, still looking at Peeta, giving him an arrogant expression.

"I want to—PROTECT—her," he says slowly, trying to keep his anger reigned in.

"You want to 'protect her,'" says Gale sarcastically. "And what have you ever done to 'protect' her? Get yourself half-killed and then make her come and save you?"

It's me who speaks this time. "Gale, seriously stop it."

Again, they ignore me.

"I—"says Peeta.

"No, just don't, ok? We all know what you're going to do. You're gonna give some speech about how everything you've ever done was to help Katniss. About how you'd do anything for her. Well, the fact is, you've done nothing but rely on her. Slow her down. And, step by step, you're getting her killed."

I gasp. "Gale! Shut up!"

Finnick stares, wide-eyed, at Gale.

Gale looks in my direction, but only for a second. "Slowly, but surely. You—you're killing her." Gale is cold, unflinching.

Peeta gapes up at him. "That's not true," he whispers.

Gale shoots him a condescending look. "I told you, I'm not here to argue. Get out of my way so I can pack." He walks briskly toward his room. Three pairs of eyes follow him.

Finnick glances at Peeta, and my eyes follow his. Peeta meets Finnick's gaze, then mine for a split second. He walks out without a word.

"Finnick…?" I say.

"Uhh?" he says, still looking out at Peeta.

"Finnick!" I say, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Yeah. What?" he says, offering me an easy smile.

"Can you go talk to Peeta for a while? I have to talk to Gale."

"But I wanna watch."

I glared at him. I swear, that man could be a child sometimes.

He sighed. "Yeah, yeah, sure."

"Thanks."

He winks at me. "Not a problem," he says flirtatiously. "You know I'd do anything for you."

I frown at him. "Why are you in such a good mood?"

He laughs. "What, just because we're all about to die, I can't be having any fun?" He sees the look I throw at him, and he steps back a bit. "Ok, ok," he says, relenting. "You remember what happened right before the games? When they had us all dolled up, and you were in that light bulb/fire get-up thing?"

"And you were wearing that net thing that barely covered-?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's the one. You remember how everyone was acting?"

I think back. Unlike the other games, the competitors didn't stand rigid and nervous alone in the corner. Instead they talked freely, socialized, joked among themselves. Having fun, enjoying themselves before their imminent deaths. Just like what Finnick was doing now.

"Besides," he continues, sighing. "Dying when you're old and boring is… boring. It's those who die young, those who die helping others—those are the ones everyone remembers. Can you imagine…?"

For a second, his eyes are clouded, looking far away at something only he could see. Then he straightened up and shook his head. "Ahh, never mind," he says, his eyes sparkling. "I'm gonna go give Peeta a manly pep talk. You go talk to Gale."

* * *

"Hey, Gale," I say softly, peering around his door.

"Hey." He's lying on his bed, his hands laced beneath his head. He's staring at nothing in particular.

I come in and sit on his bed. He doesn't look at me. I sigh. "Remember our woods?" I say. "We used to love hunting there. It was our place." I reach over and gingerly tug his hand out from under his curls and grasp it. He doesn't hold me back, but he doesn't take it away, either. This is a good sign, I think.

My thumb runs over his palm. "Those were the best days of my life." Am I being too direct? Was this too unlike me that he would think it was an act? "I… I miss you, Gale."

He lies there for a moment longer. Then, abruptly sits up and pulls his hand away. "You sound like I'm already dead."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Or, maybe, you want me dead. Is that it?"

"How could you even say that, Gale?" I demand, tears of frustration flowing out of my eyes. I wipe them away in disgust. I wasn't hurt, I was mad.

"That's it, isn't it?" he accuses. "You want me gone, so you and Peeta can live happily ever after, like I never existed?"

It finally hits me that he's pushing me on purpose, trying to get me admit to something I'm not even sure is there. "All I'm saying, is we haven't been spending as much time together recently. Because you had to work to do at the mines, because I—"

"Are we just not gonna talk about it?" he interrupts.

I jerk back, surprised. It's not like Gale to be so direct.

He reads my mind. "I know that was more forward than I usually am, ok? But today I'm not like I 'usually am.' And I need to know if my kiss meant anything to you." He pauses. "So… did it? Mean anything?" his voice cracks on the last part.

Did it? Did I feel something when we kissed? I know I did—that bolt of raw pleasure, that feeling of extreme desire. Was that love, or just lust? Truth was, I didn't know. "I don't know."

He grabbed my hand and leaned forward. It was only then that I realized how close we were sitting. "That's not an answer, Katniss."

I want to let go, I really do. After all, right now is in no way the right time for this. But I don't.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I can't give you an answer. Not right now."

"That's a problem," he says, his voice soft. "Because that's all the time we have. Now."

"I don't know!" I say. "I can't decide right now! If I told you anything, I'd be lying."

He half-smiles, and I can't help but smile a little back. I've missed that smile. "Well maybe," he says, keeping his left hand on mine, moving his right hand over to the nape of my neck. I shiver. "Maybe this will help you decide."

He leans forward, then stops just as his lips are an inch away from mine. I draw in a breath. I feel my blood rushing. His Adams apple bobs, his eyes are looking into mine. I can just feel him thinking, Should I do it? What would she think? Would this ruin everything?

And then he presses his lips to mine. He goes slow, running his tongue over my lower lip. This wasn't the unexpected, fast-paced make-out session we'd had before. This time, his lips are gentle. He moves his hand to my chin, and angles himself better. He's still gentle, slow—giving me plenty of room to pull back. Maybe I'm hesitant, because he pulls back slightly. I'm breathing hard. He's not.

"Kat, I guess you know how I feel. And, I mean, that's all I wanted. I'm not asking for anything in return, I just—didn't want to end things the way we did before." He's blinking fast, looking down. His voice cracks. "I'm in love with you. And maybe you love Peeta, but what we have—what I feel… it's real. I just thought I'd… yeah." He gets on his knees to leave, but I put my hand on his knee.

"Don't," I say. I can feel my tears coming back. "Don't go."

"I just heard Haymitch yell—I have to, you know how he ge—"

I wrap my lock my elbows behind his neck and pull him into me again. He jerks back, and we both fall back, still in the same position. His hands are on my waist now. We move in perfect synchronization, and that's what this moment is—perfect. There are still tears flowing down my cheeks, but we both ignore them. This isn't the slow, exploring kiss we'd shared only a moment before. This was lust, desire, desperation all rolled up into one.

We roll over, so he's on top of me. The way I'm feeling—I've never felt anything like it, never even imagined anything like it.

I'm tugging at his collar, his hands are on my back, under my shirt. I've never needed anything more than I need him now. Right now, we—the two of us—we're perfect.

Someone clears their throat. Gale looks up, continues kissing me. I break it off and look up. Gale sighs and rolls off.

Peeta stands there, looking at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at me. His cheeks are bright red. I can't explain the rush of embarrassment I feel at this. I don't owe him anything.

"What, Peeta?" demands Gale, sounding annoyed.

"Haymitch wants you."

Gale all but growls, and stalks out of the room, clipping Peeta in the process. Peeta stays where he is, still not meeting my gaze.

"What, Peeta?" I say, and I can't stop the annoyance from creeping into my voice.

"Katniss—did he—did you…"

"Spit it out."

"I mean, I saw you guys…"

"Does the fact that I'll never see him again mean anything to you?" I demand, my voice shaking a little. "What, am I not allowed to say good bye to my best friend?"

Peeta finally brings his chin up to meet my gaze when he hears the quiver in my voice. "No, of course you are," he says. "I'm sorry, it's just, I don't…" He pulls me into a hug. "I know how you feel."

I shake myself out of his embrace with more force than necessary. "No, Peeta. No, you don't. How could you? When you've never left anything behind in your life?"

"Katniss, don't do this to me. Please." He grasps my wrist again.

I pull my arm away sharply. "I have to go say goodbye to Gale and Haymitch," I say stiffly.

I leave him standing by himself in Gale's room, looking confused and hurt.

* * *

**A/N: ** Yup, there's the romance. You like? REVIEW! I won't upload until I get the number of review I deem enough to put a new chapter up. And yes, I have a new chapter, already finished and begging to be put out in public eye. So do me a favor and review, alright?

With love,

L

3


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:**1 review. Well, thank you for that review-I genuinely appreciate it. And here's another chapter for that one reviewer. Enjoy, and PLEASE REVIEW, ok? And for those of you who favorite my story but don't review, I know who you are. REVIEW. 'kay, thanks.

* * *

"Peeta, maybe you should sit down. You know, because we're going to be walking for the next six hours?" I say, annoyed.

"It helps me think." Peeta continues pacing back and forth across the room. It's irritating me, and from the way Beetee watches him walk back and forth through the room, I'm fairly sure he, too, wishes Peeta would stop.

"Please?"

"No."

Most of our exchanges for the past couple hours have been like this. Short, curt, bordering between disinterested and just plain rude. It really wasn't making the time pass any faster. Speaking of time, I glanced over at the clock. 12:24. Still six minutes left? Wasn't that the time when I checked five minutes ago?

"Beetee, can we _please_ just leave five minutes earlier? I really don't think this is going to change things all that much."

"It's six minutes, Katniss," says Peeta.

I ignore this. "Beetee?"

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose nervously. "I—Haymitch said specifically not to let you leave early," he says apologetically.

I growled, and looked over at the clock. Still 12:24.

"Do you… do you want to review the plan one more time?" asks Beetee meekly.

"No!" both Peeta and I snap at the same time, causing Beetee to flinch. We glance at each other for a second, then quickly break eye contact. We fall into an uncomfortable silence.

The sounds of Peeta's footsteps on the floor start up again.

"It's 12:25," offers Beetee.

I whip around to glare at him. "Oh, it's 12:25. Great, a minute's passed. I can't believe I'm looking_ forward _to walking 6 hours."

Beetee shrinks backwards.

"Katniss, it's not his fault. Don't snap at him like that," says Peeta.

I soften. "Sorry. It's just that I can't bear spending another minute of my time in this place. I mean, the 'craft's already landed. Why can't we just go? That would be safer for you and the rest of the crew, wouldn't it?"

"Well, yes, but Haymitch said—"

"Haymitch is gone! He won't know!"

"You know how he gets when we don't follow—"

"Again, he won't know."

This time Peeta butts in. "We're leaving in a minute anyway," he says. "Can we stop arguing and just spend the rest of our time in peace?"

"We would," I snap. "Except for your pacing. You've been doing it for the last hour and it's been driving us mad!"

Peeta blinks. "I didn't know it was annoying you that much. I'll stop." He sits down.

I sigh. I know I've been overly rude. It seems I've done nothing lately except snap at people lately. Well, nothing but that and kiss Gale…

I felt his lips again, soft in contrast to his calloused, rough, hands. I felt his hands on my waist, under my shirt… so warm… so…

"It's 12:30," announces Peeta curtly.

I shoot up and grab my pack. Finally, we were on our way.

* * *

Peeta and I had been trekking through the woods for quite a while. "Woods" really wouldn't have been the word I would have chosen to describe what we were walking through right now, though. Back home, the "woods" had been alive. Gale and I had stuck to the dirt paths, often straying off the paths in favor of the grass that would provide cushioning to quiet our footsteps. We couldn't walk a step without hearing the coo of a mourning dove, the rustle of prey or predator in the brush, the wind whispering through the trees. Here, we were walking on black pavement that seemed so human, so out of place. Evidently, nature agreed. Where we walked, no prey tread. No birds sang. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. It occurred to me that these woods were more of a desert than any desert could be, and the thought gave me shivers.

"You cold?" asked Peeta, breathing hard and glancing over at me.

"I'm okay. You tired?" I replied, not looking away from the path ahead of us.

"No—I'm… I'm okay," he says, wheezing slightly.

I stop walking and frown. "We've been walking a couple hours. We should take a break."

"No!" says Peeta vehemently, and I look over at him, startled. "Sorry," he says. "I just don't want me to slow us down."

I try to protest, but Peeta ignores me and continues walking. I notice that that the pace we're travelling at is much slower, but I don't mention it. We move at this pace for a couple more minutes. Peeta's getting worse—his breath is ragged, and his skin has turned a shade of pink that I had previously thought was only able to be achieved through sunburn. It occurs to me that I have to be the one to demand a break, or he'll likely collapse of exhaustion. "Peeta," I say.

He turns his head slightly to look at me, but he continues to hobble forward. Hobble. His leg seems to be vibrating, contorting. Is he having a seizure? "Peeta, stop!" I shriek. He must've heard the note of hysteria in my voice, because he finally stops.

"What…?" he begins. Then he falls to the ground.

I push him backwards, grab his leg, and push up the pant leg. His synthetic leg—of course. But what could be happening? It's vibrating in my hand, and a tiny red light planted in his metal knee. He sits up and puts his hands around his throbbing ankle. "It's—No!" he says. "No, no, no!"

"Peeta!" I scream. I can tell something's horribly wrong. "What's wrong. What is it?"

"We need to get out of here, fast," he says, his voice steady, but his eyes looking around frantically.

"What? Why?"

He pulls himself up and grabs my hand. "Let's go!" he says, but he only makes it a couple steps before he falls back on his knees.

"Damn it!" he says. His leg is vibrating faster now, and the red light is blinking furiously.

I grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "What's wrong?" I demand.

The gust of wind pushes me backwards, away from him, too strong to be natural. The wind accompanies the sound of blades chopping the air. No…. it couldn't be. It was a hovercraft, but not the slow, sleek, quiet one Plutarch had put us on. No, this was a Capitol-issued vehicle used to pick up dead tributes from the arena, a man-made hunter, claw attached and all.

It lowers a bit, and with the wind whipping at my hair, I suddenly snap out of my reverie just in time to realize that the wind is dragging Peeta and me apart. I scream, clawing at the black asphalt, desperation pounding in my veins. If I lose him now, again…

He manages to crawl over to me, and rolls over onto me so that the wind doesn't whip at me as much. "What is it?" I sob. "What's going on? Your leg—"

He wraps his arms around me, and I take solace in this small show of affection even as I feel the 'craft near. "It's how they got me so quickly in the arena," he says quietly into my ear. "They put a tracker into my leg. They're here for us. And they got us." Suddenly, his body goes through a ripple of spasms.

"Peeta?" I whisper, still pinned underneath his body.

His body is rigid on mine, and with his arms still around me, I no longer take comfort in him. He is trapping me, pinning me down. I push him aside. There're at least three stun darts stuck in his skin.

With the wind getting stronger every second, I know I'm running out of time. I try to stand up, and get knocked down again—I have to crawl. And so I do, on my knees and hands, trying to crawl away from everything I've been running away from the past year, but I'm blind—I can't see, I can't feel, I can't… can't do this… but I have to! But the wind is so strong, so harsh, so cold, that I don't even feel the dart sink into my skin. The poison in my veins. Gale, Finnick, Haymitch, Hanroff… they must've made it by now… they must've…. I'm losing my thoughts, losing myself, and it's the worst feeling in the world.

I'm not conscious long enough to feel myself hit the ground.

* * *

When I blink my eyes open again, I'm surprised I can move. They didn't even tie me up. I debate whether or not I should feel grateful or offended, but I choose to be grateful. At least on the inside. I'd go insane all shackled up. I shake my head a couple times. Where am I?

I get up and walk around the room they put me in. I don't have even the basic necessities—no bed, no toilet, no sink. Only two chairs and a big desk. What am I supposed to do with that? They did provide me with a window, though. Big and black, it stretches across the entire room, but it's tinted so I can't see outside. No bars, as far as I can tell, though. Thinking quickly, I take the chair and slam it against the table. To my surprise, the chair splinters in my hands, and the black screen doesn't even shake. I shake off the scraps of the chair in disgust. I don't even attempt to use the second chair.

I scan the room again. As far as I can tell, that's all I'm provided with. I climb up the table and poke the ceiling in hope of finding a loose tile or something. No such luck. The ceiling is just one big expanse of gray.

The sound of footsteps surprises me so much I almost fall off the table. A man with a ridiculous mustache comes in, sees me, and flounders in surprise. It would have been comical, except behind him, standing in the doorway that I hadn't even seen, are two guards holding big guns that glint evilly. The one whose hat is tilted cockily sees me looking and cocks it, grinning. I quickly look away.

"Get down from there, you!" says the mustached man. Not 'Katniss,' not 'Miss,' not even 'Everdeen.' He addresses me 'you.' I'm tempted to throw him a retort when I remember the guns. I quickly get down and stand, waiting further direction.

He gestures to the chair I haven't broken and licks his lips nervously. "Please, sit," he says.

I sit.

He looks around. "What…?" he starts. Then he sees the splinters of the second chair strewn all over the floor. "Ahh…" he says, almost understandingly. He turns toward the wall and presses a button. "Can I have a chair?" he says into the speaker.

A crackle sounds from the speaker, then a throaty "Yes sir!"

A chair falls from the ceiling and lands on the floor right where the previous one was. I look up wonderingly at the ceiling just in time to see the claw retract back into it. I look back at the chair. It can't be more than two steps from the door, where I can see a row a chairs from where I sit. Would it really have been so hard just to drag the chair in from the other room?

He turns back to the speaker and says "Ready: start cameras. Close door."

"Yes sir!"

The door slides down, and cameras spin out from the corners. Where did all these things come from? I hadn't noticed any of it even from my careful scrutinizing.

He sits in the chair and leans back. Not in a confident matter, more like he's shrinking back from me. This encourages me to lean forward and put my elbows on the table. I'm feeling more confident without the armed soldiers in the doorway.

I examine Mr. Mustache's face. His face is shiny, but not from sweat. Plastic surgery, I decide. His lips are overly full, and I suspect that they, too, have been cosmetically altered. I conclude that this wasn't some tough general—this was a pampered, ignorant, easily manipulated citizen of the Capitol. This makes me feel better.

"Where's Peeta?" I demand.

He angrily slams his fist on the table, but it's a pathetic, trying-way-too-hard-to-look-tough gesture. I don't flinch. "I am the one asking the questions!" he says, a tremor in his voice.

I cock my head. What was he afraid of? I was a seventeen year-old-girl with only a splintered chair as a weapon, and he was a Capitol official with armed guards at his disposal. "What is this, an interrogation?" I ask.

"Precisely that," he says. He takes out a handkerchief and dabs at his lip.

Suddenly, the whole room with the black window makes sense, and I feel stupid.

"Okay, Officer," I say. "What would you like to ask me?"

He folds his hands in his lap and looks like he's trying to think of something to say.

Thankfully for him, the speaker crackles to life. "Sir, Plutarch Heavensbee requests permission to speak to you."

My head jerks up with recognition. Heavensbee was here? Heavensbee was one of the few who had stayed on the 'craft. Did that mean the Capitol had gotten to the hovercraft?

Mr. Mustache looks grateful for the interruption. He goes to the speaker, presses the button, and says, "Request granted. Bring him in."

"Yes sir!"

Heavensbee doesn't come in with an army of guards like I expect. Instead, he walks in, holding a leash. The leash is tied around Beetee's wrists and neck.

What was going on? I open my mouth to speak, but Beetee shakes his head slightly at me. Part of me wants to sigh with relief, but the other part of me wants to strangle someone. This was obviously another part of Haymitch's plot.

"What is it, Mr. Heavensbee?" inquires Mustache grandly, stroking his mustache with his index finger.

"This little rascal," says Heavensbee, jerking Beetee's leash slightly, causing him to cry out, "Was one of the people who took me prisoner on their hovercraft."

Mustache nods with as much sympathy as his plastic face can muster. "I heard about that," he says. "Take him to where the rest of them are."

The rest of them? So did they have Gale? Peeta? Everyone else? I hoped not…

Heavensbee hesitated. "Can I…?" he says. "I mean, the general said I could take him to the torture room."

Mustache chuckled. "A little revenge, eh?" he says. "Go ahead. But make sure he's at E by the end of the day."

Plutarch nods. "End of the day?" he says. "What time would that be?" he holds up his left wrist and taps his watch for emphasis. He looks directly at me when he says this.

To the cameras, it would like Heavensbee was just asking an innocent question. To me, however, his words held a double meaning. I flashed back to that night before the Quarter Quell, when he showed me his watch with the mockingjay on it. He was telling me that he was still on my side. I look directly at him and blink three times in succession.

"… should be early enough" finishes Mustache.

Heavensbee nods, still looking at me, and I know he gets my message. He and Beetee walk out of the room.

"Close the door," says Mustache.

"Yes sir!"

He turns back to me. "Where were we?"

"You were asking me questions."

"Ahh, yes. Tell me, Katniss, did you know you were to be abducted from the arena?" he asks. I'm not sure if I like him being friendly toward me or him calling me 'You' better.

"No," I say.

"You didn't," he says.

"I just said that."

"Ahh. Yes." He coughs. "Excuse me," he says.

I wait patiently.

"Who else attempted your little escapade to the Capitol?" he asks.

Would telling him jeopardize our mission? I decide it would, so I stay silent.

"We already got you, Peeta, Finnick, and Hanroff," he says.

I keep my head bowed. What did this mean? Had they not gotten Gale and Haymitch, then? Haymitch… did he have some sinister plot? Again?

"Listen," says Mustache with an attempt at kindness. "We're on the same side here. We really are."

A flush of anger rushes through my veins. "Yeah?" I say. "Then—"

_Drip._

Both of us look up at the ceiling. It's funny that our heated debate would end with just a single drip of water. But Mustache is already freaking out, shaking his head, muttering "They said this was a sealed room. "

_Drip. Drip drip._

"Why is there water falling from the ceiling?" demands Mustache, not even moving toward the speaker, relying on the camera's to pick up on his voice.

"The pi—afskgappf" the voice that comes from the speaker is garbled and incomprehensible.

_Drip drip drip… _The water's now a steady trickle.

Mustache hits the button furiously. "I beg your pardon?" he shouts.

"Osagpahfskj-" says the voice over the speaker. "BOOM!" goes something in the outside the door. It crackles through the speaker before the electricity in the room goes out. I sit there in darkness. Suddenly, the emergency light kicks on, painting the room a sickly yellow-green color.

Mustache bangs on the door. "Open!" he shouts.

The door obediently slides open. "Come on," he says. "We'll continue this—"

_BOOM. _We both look up to see the entire ceiling give way to a wall of water. Mustache gasps. The water pushes him to the floor, holds him there, until he rolls under the table, gasping. I don't wait. I run straight to the door, taking a chair with me, the water battering me at the same time.

"Officer Brady!" yells the guard with the hat, running through the door, his gun hanging uselessly to the side.

_BAM. _My chair makes quick work of him, and I note with satisfaction that his hat is now getting soaked by water some six feet away from the guard. I grab the gun and start to the door, then stop. The chair's come in handy—I take it with me.

The entire room is in chaos. The command booth, or something of the sort, is crackling, the water obviously not mixing well with the electric wires underneath. The water is up to my ankles, and quickly rising. Guards and officers are running around, tripping over things hidden under the water, hiding under desks, arguing among themselves. I try to slip out unseen, but one of them sees me. "Hey—" he says. I pull the trigger, aiming wildly, trying not to hit anyone. I get the desired effect—everyone dives for cover. These officers are not used to chaos. I'm lucky the guard with the hat cocked the gun, since it just makes everything that much easier.

One brave officer runs toward me, and attempts to hold me. I jam him in the gut with the butt of my gun, and he crumples. I run through the door, and something in the back of my head registers that I must look ridiculous with my chair. Panting, I make it outside the control room into the corridor. The water scenario is slightly better here—only trickles leak through cracks in the ceiling and floods in from underneath doors. I close the door, walk a couple steps, then go back and jam the chair in between the floor and the doorknob. It jiggles in desperation, but I only feel somewhat guilty as I start down the hallway.

Where had Mustache said they were keeping Gale and Peeta? I rack my brain. E! That's right. I walk down the corridor, ignoring the people running up and down frantically. Thankfully, no one recognizes me. E… how was I supposed to get there? Did it go by levels, with A being the first and E being the fifth, or did they number it by rooms? I couldn't exactly ask anyone, either. I look at the room I just came out of. C06. Was I on level C? Ok, I start down the hallway, taking in my surroundings. The walls were papered with silk, I noticed. The water would probably ruin it.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. Was the sedative affecting my thoughts? Okay, C06. C04. C02. C00. B20. I stop walking. Damn it. I close my eyes, mentally looking at where I was from a bird's-eye view. My eyes flew open as it hit me. This place was organized by wings.

Fueled by this new discovery, I took off in the opposite direction. I passed C06, satisfied that the chair was still in place, albeit at the brink of splintering. C08… C20… D14… D20… E02. Did Mustache mention a room? I didn't think so. I jiggle the knob. It doesn't budge. This isn't the time—the water is to my knees. Suddenly, the alarm turns on, red, flashing, casting shadows on the walls and making the water turn red. For a second I have this crazy idea that I'm swimming in a sea of blood, but the urgency soon knocks me back into my senses.

What do I do? A piece of plaster falls onto the water to my left, and a barrage of water falls through. My eye falls on my gun. I have no choice… I cock it and shoot my way through. I hope the bullets don't hit anyone on the other side. The door plops onto the water, and I have to step on it to get through.

This place is way too familiar, even through the water. This is where we were held captive after witnessing the murder of Hazelle, Gale's mother. That must mean they were here! I turn around, and see them lined up in clear little cells, pounding on the glass. I'd forgotten they were soundproof. Not waterproof, though. In the cell closest to me, Peeta is balancing on top of his desk and his chair, and the water's already up to his ankles.

I run up to him, and almost break my nose again. I pound on the glass, even fire a couple shots at it. "What's the passcode?" I scream, praying that he can read my lips. He does. "Quarter Quell," he mouths. I almost laugh at the irony, but laughing is not an option at this point. I nod. "I'll come back for you," I mouth.

"What the hell, Katniss?" he mouths, but by the way his lips move I can tell he's yelling. I would be, too. The water is waist high for him, his little glass cube almost completely filled. I ignore him, and run down the corridor.

I see Hanroff, crouched on his chair stacked on his desk stacked on his bed, the water shoulder high. He had the misfortune of having a smaller cell. I don't even acknowledge him. I know I'm almost out of time—where is he? There he is! Finnick, floating calmly, the top of his head already bumping the top of the ceiling. I tap in the number 3075—the year of the quarter quell—and he comes out with a sweep of water.

"Quarter Quell!" I yell. He understands, and swims toward Hanroff's cell, punching in the numbers.

I make a bee-line for Peeta's cell, the water now nose high. He has to breathe through his nose to breathe, even with his neck craned. Plutarch is already banging on the glass, but he can't read Peeta's frantic lips. I punch in the code one last time, and Peeta comes out with all his furniture, face down on the floor.

"Peeta!" I scream. "Peeta! Not now! Please?"

He coughs, splutters, and gets up, wheezing. "I can't swim," he gasps.

Finnick slips his arms under his armpits, and we all follow Plutarch out, no questions asked.

"Hanroff!" yells Plutarch. "You know the way. I have to get Beetee!"

Hanroff makes his way to the front, I follow, and Finnick and Gale awkwardly tail me. Hanroff's making a bee-line toward the end of the hallway. "There's nothing there!" I gasp. He ignores me. He swims awkwardly, his left shoulder dipping more than his right. I realize he's holding the gun I drop.

He reaches the end of the hallway, where a window looks into a pleasant view of a perfectly cultivated garden. He fires a round of shots into the window, then throws the gun in and jumps through. I gasp, and swim towards the window.

"Just jump!" he says.

Heights have never been my favorite thing. Maybe Finnick is tired of carrying Peeta or something, but the next thing I know, I'm in the bushes. I unravel myself just in time to avoid being hit by Finnick. Peeta comes last, making it through smoothly.

We're all through, we're all alive. Or, are we? "Gale…?" I ask, almost afraid to know the answer.

Hanroff looks me in the eyes, his hair, clothes, everything dripping. He's shaking, and I don't know from what. "I'm sorry," he says. "The Capitol has them."

* * *

**A/N:** Long chapter, no? Did you like it? Show your appreciation by REVIEWING. Thank you, and good night.

-L


End file.
